


'Cause If We Find We're In A Bind

by lei_che_sogna



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Post The Great Game, The Great Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-11
Updated: 2010-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lei_che_sogna/pseuds/lei_che_sogna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I can promise this is unlike any other solution you may have read for the finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Cause If We Find We're In A Bind

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ведь если нас загонят в угол...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/603791) by [Rainy_Elliot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainy_Elliot/pseuds/Rainy_Elliot)



Although he hid it well (you had to hide things well if you lived with the most observant man in London if not the entire world), John lived in fear of the day Sherlock would wake up and realise that John was just an ordinary person and grow tired of living with him. There would be no more chases over the rooftops of London, no more sabotaging of John’s dates (which he was sure showed Sherlock cared about him at least a little bit), no more danger, and most importantly, no more Sherlock.

Then Moriarty happened, and John was forced to see the destroyed expression of the only man he had ever loved, while having a bomb strapped to his chest.

John tried to get Sherlock away safely, but he just wouldn’t go. John would have been infuriated if he wasn’t so scared, terror making a high-pitched whine in the back of his head, his panic for Sherlock overlaying Moriarty’s sneering and posturing. Luckily it seemed that Moriarty only wanted to toy with them, and not kill them outright.

Once the bomb was off and John could breathe he found himself on the floor next to the pool. He could barely believe it was over, and the rush he felt at the fact that not only Sherlock lived but he himself did as well was astonishing in its intensity.

So John took refuge in commonplace conversation, playing off how he had tried to sacrifice himself to ensure Sherlock’s safety. Sherlock paced agitatedly, absently scratching his head with the barrel of his gun. Suddenly with a muttered curse he tossed it away and crouched at John’s feet, gazing into his eyes.

“John, when that evil man had you covered in explosives, I realised something important.”

Sherlock grasped John’s hands in his own, elegant white fingers squeezing John’s shorter but no less attractive digits.

“I love you, John. Please, make me the happiest of men and say you’ll marry me.”

John pulled his hands away, turning his back on Sherlock. Why was he making this so difficult for John? He had long ago accepted that Sherlock could never love him as a man loves another man. John was content to stay by his side and protect him from harm. But what Sherlock suggested was not possible. If they got married Sherlock would grow to hate him for trapping him in the wedded state. Sherlock definitely didn't mean it. They’d had a very near miss. It had to be the adrenaline talking. John bit back despair at what he had to do.

“No, Sherlock, I can’t marry you.”

Sherlock’s face drained of all colour as he stumbled backwards, customary gazelle-like grace completely gone.

“John, you must! I’ve only known you for a few short months but they have been the happiest and most meaningful of my entire life! If you leave me my life will be a bleak and empty shell, bereft of joy and sunshine! You make me human, John, which is ironic because I’m not and have never been one of you spectacularly ignorant mortals!”

John blinked.

And blinked again.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“See, you can’t leave me! I need you! The mere thought of existence without you has caused me to inadvertently reveal my deepest and darkest secret!”

Sherlock clutched his glossy ebony curls in his hands, curling into himself on the floor next to the swimming pool. The underwater pool lights bounced aquamarine shadows off his flawless cheekbones, beautiful even in anguished sadness.

John took a step towards Sherlock, his need to be near the man temporarily overcoming his common sense. He halted as Sherlock’s words registered.

“Darkest secret? Sherlock? What—what _are_ you, exactly?”

Sherlock’s head snapped up, brushed steel orbs locking intently upon John’s blue ones.

“If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

As quickly as the tension appeared it left Sherlock’s body, causing his slender frame to seem even more fragile.

“No, John, it is a fair question. After all, in the two point four six seconds I had in between my realisation of my deep and abiding passion for you and Moriarty’s next words I had time to visualise one hundred and twenty two possible ways in which I could reveal my true feelings to you and a further twelve billion ways in which you could react to my revelation, but in the majority of these scenarios (ninety-seven percent) I did share my terrible secret with you.”

John gulped, wanting to enfold the emotionally compromised Sherlock in his strong, ex-military arms, but something held him back. What was this secret?

“You make me want to be completely honest with you, John. I love you too much and you don’t deserve anything less than the complete truth. So, here it is-“

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut briefly, as if tormented by some terrible inner pain.

“I’m a unicorn, John.”

John was surprised, to put it mildly.

“What?”

“I don’t know how you didn’t see the signs, they were so very obvious; my beautiful pearly skin, my lustrous curly mane-I mean hair, my lightning reflexes, the fact that I’m pure as the driven snow (aside from the whole sociopath thing), my love of semi-automatic personal firearms, my razor-sharp genius, and my superior running skills?”

“But—Why me? I’m not a virgin, Sherlock, and I’m definitely not a maiden.”

John could take many things in stride, it seemed. As unlikely as it may have been (a unicorn?), he’d seen stranger in Afghanistan.

“Of course you’re not, the myths are all bullshit. That’s why they’re called myths, John. Besides, you can’t honestly tell me that if you were a unicorn you’d want a virgin for your mate.”

“M-mate?” John stuttered. This was passing swiftly beyond his comprehension.

“Yes, the Big Book of Unicorn Laws says that a unicorn can love only once and the human we love is our true mate. And once we have found this mate we must marry, as we are promised to each other for all time.”

John blinked again. Forever. It was the only thing he’d ever wished for with Sherlock, in whatever form he could get. But this exceeded his wildest dreams.

“I can understand that this is too much for a mere human to take, even one so intelligent and sexy as you, John. I’m sorry.”

“Sherlock-“

“One word from you, and I’m gone. You’ll never have to see or hear from me ever again, and you can lead a happy normal life.”

“Sherlock-“

“I’m so sorry, John. I tried to be good enough for you, but I see how wrong I was to try.”

A single tear like a cabochon moonstone shimmered down Sherlock’s perfectly sculpted cheekbone. He stood and began to walk slowly towards the exit doors.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock turned, trying hard to hold his tears back with his long, luxurious eyelashes. For a moment his vision swam and he could see nothing except images of the empty and meaningless life that was to be his without John. Then he blinked. His astute powers of observation showed him that John didn’t look sad, or angry, or even happy that Sherlock was leaving him in peace. Instead he looked...annoyed?

“Sherlock, get back here. I wasn’t finished yet.”

Sherlock exhaled, happy to remain in John’s presence for as long as he could and yet depressed that John was probably calling him back to scorn him. He strode to John, testing his limits by seeing how close John would let him come. To his surprise, John didn’t halt Sherlock’s forward progress with a gesture or step away from him. Instead he just stood there, looking remarkably like he was content to stand there until Doomsday.

Sherlock continued walking until he was pressed up against John’s front, gazing down into his limpid blue eyes. Then he hesitated. What could this mean? The world’s only consulting detective was utterly confused.

When he would’ve retreated John quickly reached forward and held him in place, pressing Sherlock tighter against his stocky muscled frame. In light of this behaviour Sherlock dared to hope that John did not hate him entirely.

He told John this, which caused the shorter man to let out a sound that was a cross between a chuckle and a put-upon sigh. Then John reached up, framing Sherlock’s face in his strong doctor’s hands, and with a steady grip drew Sherlock’s face down to his, answering him without words.

Eventually John surfaced, gasping for air. When he had gained control of the raging tsunami wave that was his love for Sherlock, he spoke.

“I’ve told you before, it’s all fine. I don’t care that you’re gay, I don’t care that you’re a sociopath, and I really don’t care that you’re a unicorn. I love you all the same.”

Sherlock was overcome by a surge of happiness so strong that he could do nothing but stare into space for a good thirty seconds.  
And then he realized that John was kneeling in front of him, mimicking Sherlock’s own actions from minutes before when he had stripped the bomb off John, and unbuttoning his expensive tailored trousers.

Sherlock knew of no more pressing concerns than what was happening right here, in this moment. John constantly bemoaned how Sherlock always forgot to buy the milk and left him in strange places and used his mobile without asking. He could at least make it up to him by helping John do this one little thing. It seemed like he didn’t want anything else in the world; who was Sherlock to say no? At the very least it promised not to be boring. The opposite, in fact.

A swift, completely genuine grin illuminated Sherlock’s face as he bent to assist.

*

“Ripping your clothes off in a darkened swimming pool?”

“What? I hinted as hard as I could. I practically came right out and said it, for fuck’s sake. It’s not my fault you’re oblivious.”

“Oblivious? Me?”

“Yes, you. Look, who’s the President of the United States?”

“...”

“Ha! I knew i—mlmmmf!”

There was a pause.

“I know what you’re doing, you’re trying to distract me, but it won’t wo—mmmm!”

*

“Hi-iii!”

Moriarty popped back out from the doors he had vacated some time before.

John grabbed the bright blue curtain from the changing stall and attempted to wrap it around himself and Sherlock. He prayed the curtain, in addition to concealing nakedness, also had bullet-repelling properties, but he doubted it.

“I was halfway to China on my top-secret helicopter made from experimental alien-based technology when I decided to come back and kill you after all!” Moriarty giggled, signalling to his snipers. Snipers that John sincerely hoped had not been there the entire time he and Sherlock were having really hot sex on the floor by the side of the pool. And in the pool. And in three of the changing stalls.

“Now, should I have poor dull John Watson shot in the gut first so you can watch your pet bleed out slowly, or—Holy shit!”

For Sherlock had turned into a unicorn. Under the dim lighting his shiny white coat gleamed, contrasting perfectly with his midnight black mane and tail. He was a gorgeous unicorn just as he was a gorgeous man, and John was humbled by the love this perfect being had for simple ordinary him.

“You stay away from him, you bastard!” Sherlock the unicorn shouted, stamping his purple sparkly hoof in rage.

Without further ado, he took a running start and galloped toward Moriarty, goring him with his horn.

Moriarty screamed an unusually high-pitched scream for an adult male and vanished in a shower of iridescent glitter.

“Climb on my back, John, and let’s go home,” Sherlock cried.

“What about the snipers?” John asked.

“They can’t hurt us now. They’re too in awe of my exquisite looks to do anything.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” Sherlock knelt and John climbed carefully onto his back, holding the unicorn’s mane between his fingers for stability.

They were away.

*

Many blissful hours later John turned in Sherlock’s grasp, facing his beautiful unicorn fiancé. He closed the few centimetres between them with a brief but loving kiss. John broke off the kiss as a thought occurred to him. A very bad, very horrifying thought.

“Sherlock, my love? Is Mycroft a unicorn, too?”

Sherlock stirred slightly, chuckling drowsily.

“No, dear heart, of course not.”

John sighed with relief. One unicorn in the family was enough to be getting on with. He snuggled closer to Sherlock, his mind free of all concerns, happy and finally ready to get some much-needed sleep. This desire was to vanish completely with Sherlock’s next words.

“Mycroft’s a dragon.”

FINITO

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from a line in Voltaire's 'The USS Make Shit Up', in recognition of the wildly unlikely occurrence of a Wing Pull in Sherlock.  
> There is no possible explanation for this. The best I can do is to channel the Tenth Doctor and say that I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. Nonetheless, concrit appreciated. If your brain hasn't melted, that is.


End file.
